


To Be Unbridled And Unburned

by Branithar



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Domestic Violence, Forced Marriage, M/M, Magic, Selkies, Serial Killers, Strangers to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, Torture, be gay do crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23664652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branithar/pseuds/Branithar
Summary: Since a wealthy businessman found his pelt while he was relaxing on a beach several years ago, Calum's done his best to make the most of his new life. He hasn't been able to like his wife or their home or their neighbours, but he's surviving, at least. Unbeknownst to him, rumours of what his father-in-law did have spread and a shady group of traveling magicians have taken interest in his situation.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please take the archive warnings seriously, I know this could potentially be very triggering. Extra warnings will appear at the beginnings of all relevant chapters, so hopefully nothing sneaks up on you. Feel absolutely free to comment if you think I missed something that should have been tagged.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with reading about your boys doing very violent things, this might not be for you. 
> 
> Moodboard is by Who_The_Hell_Is_Tre_Cool on AO3 or mastasof-ravenkroft on Tumblr.
> 
> Title is from No Parallels by Hands Like Houses.

Calum hurried to the front door with a practiced quietness, hoping Brooke wouldn’t find him too slow this time. Opening it, he was faced with a young, tall, curly-haired man he didn’t recognise. The man was well-dressed, clearly someone important, or at least representing someone important. The coat of arms on his coat looked like it belonged to some distant college of magic.

“Is this the Brooke residence?” the stranger inquired.

“It is.”

“I’m looking for a mister Charles Brooke.”

Calum nodded. “I’ll get him for you. Come in?”

He took the stranger’s coat and showed him to the living room before heading upstairs to Brooke’s study.

“Mister Brooke?” he asked, gently knocking on the door.

“What?” Brooke spat.

“There’s a visitor here for you.”

Calum got out of the way when he heard Brooke’s footsteps, keeping his eyes on the floor as he wrenched the door open.

“Faye!” Brooke barked, straightening his shirt.

Faye stepped out of her and Calum’s room, where she’d probably been waiting to be called on, schooling her worried expression quickly. “Yes, pa?”

“Tea.”

Faye nodded, not sparing Calum a glance as she hurried to obey.

“Out of sight,” Brooke growled to Calum, following her downstairs.

“Yes sir,” Calum replied.

He waited for Brooke to disappear downstairs before heading into his room, pulling up the rug in the middle of the floor and removing the loose floorboard. Lowering himself to listen, he heard the man introduce himself as Hemmings, Brooke asking him if he’d care for some tea.

Calum knew that Faye would be listening too, though she would have to act busy in the kitchen as she did. Together, they usually gathered enough to piece together conversations later, when her father was deep in a drunken sleep.

Although Brooke made no attempt at keeping his voice low at first, the stranger confined himself to hushed tones too low to hear through the ceiling. He said something that made Brooke invite him outside and Calum sat up with a huff, disappointed. The fact the Brooke seemed keen to distance them from prying ears only served to make Calum more curious about the man.

Looking around, he realised Faye had haphazardly tossed her embroidery when Brooke called her and it had fallen to the ground next to her rocking chair. Calum picked it up, careful to avoid the threaded needle, and set it on the nightstand she kept such things in.

Brooke and Hemmings soon returned, voices light as Brooke bid Hemmings goodbye. When Hemmings was out of earshot, he shouted for Calum to come downstairs.

“I’m going to the pub tonight,” he grumbled to Calum and Faye, “I want this shit _clean_ when I get back, you hear me?”

“Yes sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR IMPLIED RAPE IN THIS CHAPTER

Letting his eyes slip shut, Michael turned his face to the sun and felt the comforting warmth wash over him. As much as he loved his family, sometimes he just needed a moment alone, the waves lapping and the sand soothing him. This was his favourite beach for it. In all the years he’d been coming here, nobody had found him, selkie or human, to disturb his peaceful reverie. 

As he sat, Michael’s thoughts drifted to Mir, a friend he’d been sharing more than a few quiet moments with recently. Michael had always liked him well enough and didn’t think he was opposed to taking their relationship in the direction it seemed to be going. He smiled, the pleasant thought of _him and Mir_ fixing itself in his mind. 

A shadow came over his eyes and he opened them, realising that he was surrounded by humans. Michael frowned and looked up at the men, his stomach dropping when he saw his pelt bundled in the arms of one of them. 

Jumping to his unsteady feet, he made to grab it but felt hands dart out to hold him back, a few snickers echoing around the circle. 

“Give it back.”

“Not very polite,” the one in front of him commented. 

“Please.”

“He’s pretty cute, huh?” someone laughed. 

The man smiled, pulling out a large fishing knife. “I think you should do something for us first. Kneel.”


	3. Chapter 3

Although they usually stayed awake with bated breath on nights Brooke went to the pub, waiting for him to return in a drunken rage and beat Calum senseless for some imagined infraction, Faye fell asleep more easily than Calum had ever known her to. Calum looked over his shoulder at her, wondering what had worn her out so much. Probably a lot of things. Living with Brooke wasn’t exactly easy and unlike Calum, Faye had been doing it her whole life. 

A noise echoed from below and Calum froze, his heart racing. He told himself to calm down, realising that the noise was far too quiet to have been Brooke. There was another noise, and Calum wondered if it was mice. Brooke wouldn’t like that. 

Careful not to disturb Faye, Calum slipped out of bed and padded downstairs, trying to remember if he’d checked the mousetraps earlier and—

Calum paused. Had they accidentally left the living room light on? He stepped in and froze in place, the two strangers sitting on the lounge spotting him immediately. 

“Good evening!” greeted the one with straight blond hair and a moon-like face.

“Sorry to intrude,” Calum said carefully, scanning the room for any sign of Brooke but only noticing the unfamiliar cards and stones on the low table in front of the men, “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Sorry,” the man said sheepishly, “I hope we didn’t startle you.”

The other man, curly haired like Hemmings but with a much more pointed chin, sat back wordlessly, expressionless as his eyes wandered over Calum with a piercing gaze. 

“I’m Clifford,” the man continued as he stood, trying to offer Calum a hand, “This is Irwin, my associate. Um…” Clifford seemed to remember something and turned back to the lounge to pick up what looked like a bundle of cloth. He cradled it carefully, turning back to Calum as he unwrapped the fabric. “Is this yours?” 

Calum stared at the exposed pelt in Clifford’s arms, head starting to spin. _His_ pelt. He hadn’t seen it this close in years, but he _knew_ that it was his like he knew that the feet he stood on were his.

“Where did you—” He swallowed and shook his head, stepping back. “What do you want?” 

“We wanna help,” Clifford told him gently, “You don’t have to leave tonight, but when you do we’ll help you kill them.”

Calum froze. “Kill who?” 

“The people who did this to you,” Irwin told him, his expression unchanging, “Your wife, her father, whoever you want.” 

_Brooke._

Calum frowned. “I don’t wanna kill Faye. She didn’t—” He looked back at the dark staircase. “She doesn’t know. She’s as trapped as me.” 

“We’ll leave her alone then,” Clifford assured him, “The spell won’t break until dawn, she’ll have no idea what’s happening.” 

He offered Calum his pelt again and it was then that Calum smelled it. It was muted, but there was a tang Calum hadn't found on anyone but himself in years. _Selkie._

Calum took the pelt, unrolling it and just staring at the speckled fur, transfixed. 

“So,” Irwin started, “Hemmings is bringing Brooke back from the pub in a few hours. Do you wanna kill him yourself, or would it be easier if we did it?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR IMPLIED RAPE IN THIS CHAPTER

“You know what I think?” Grayson asked Michael as he pulled his trousers back on, “I think you don’t take me seriously.”

Michael balled up his fists, his body aching horribly. He could barely lift his head. “I do,” he swore. 

“You’re not even trying anymore.”

“I am.” 

“You think that you’re better than us. That we aren’t worth your fucking time.”

“ _No._ ”

“What do you guys think?”

The other men jeered at Michael, goading Grayson on. 

Grayson went to the fireplace, pulling the poker out from the flames. He liked to keep it red hot in case Michael misbehaved. 

“You probably don’t even mind this,” he chuckled, “I bet you actually like it.”

Michael’s stomach dropped as he watched Grayson walk to the corner and picked up his stained, dusty pelt. “Wait.”

Grayson dropped the pelt on the floor, unceremoniously kicking it flat. “I wonder if you like this too.” 

“No, stop!” Michael made to get off the bed, but found himself being held down by at least three men not for the first time that night. Fresh tears streamed from his eyes. “Please don’t,” he whimpered desperately. 

“You need to learn your lesson,” Grayson told him before plunging the poker into the pelt, grinning while Michael screamed as if it was tearing into his own flesh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER

Calum stared in shock at the scene before him. He didn’t immediately recognise the corpse hanging upside-down from a second storey window. Though his face was intact, his father-in-law looked nothing like himself. The colours in his sagging skin were all wrong and his expression was one that Calum had never seen while he was alive. Below his neck, he’d been completely flayed, flies already crawling over exposed muscle. His skin hadn’t wandered far. If Calum stood on his toes he could see it nailed to the front door, the word SLAVER carved into it in huge, bloody letters. 

Rumours were already spreading. In horrified tones, the people gathered outside Calum’s home of more years than he cared to count murmured theories about what it could mean, and he scoffed at the mentions of supposed child slaves. 

Movement in a window caught Calum’s eye. Faye must have just woken up. She peered down at the crowd in confusion, her brow furrowing as her eyes met Calum’s and he drew his hood closer, hurrying after the others. 

He hadn’t packed much into Clifford, Irwin and Hemmings’ cart. He didn’t _have_ much aside from the pelt they’d returned to him last night and he preferred to keep that in a rucksack on his person. He swore he’d never let it out of his sight again. 

Brooke’s bloody remains served as enough of a distraction that they were able to slip out of town quietly, only a few children cooing at the cow pulling their cart before being ushered into their homes by parents receiving the news. 

“So that was a spectacle,” Calum commented when they were far enough that he felt safe to speak. 

“Sends a message,” Clifford replied brightly, smiling at him, “Maybe if we do enough of this people will learn not to fuck with us.” 

“You mean selkies?”

“Yeah!” 

Calum nodded. Though the means was…messy…he couldn’t say it wasn’t worth the ends. “You do this a lot then?” 

“Anytime we hear about someone locking up a selkie,” Clifford answered. 

“So…how did you find my pelt? I’ve never been able to figure out where Brooke keeps it. Kept it.”

“That’s where the true genius comes in!” Hemmings answered, turning to walk backwards so that he was facing Calum. He pointed at the crest on his coat. “See this?”

“Yeah.”

“This is from the College of Naxerth. I stole it. All I have to do is say I’m an apprentice magician and that I’m studying the magical properties of selkie pelts and wanna buy one.” 

Calum frowned. “Selkie pelts have magical properties?”

Hemmings grinned. “Nope!”

“Huh.” Calum narrowed his eyes. “Brooke sold you my pelt?” The thought that Brooke thought that little of Calum’s pelt, his _life,_ made his blood boil. 

“Yeah. I handed it off to Mister Irwin, my assistant—” Hemmings winked at Calum as he gave Irwin’s ass a light slap. “—and he and Mister Clifford gave it back to you!”

“That’s quite a plan.”

“It’s taken some fine tuning,” Hemmings said, turning back around to watch where he was going. 

“Why do you do it?” 

Hemmings glanced back at him. “My mum is a selkie. Things were always… _off_ growing up, but I didn’t figure out why until I found her pelt by accident. I gave it to her and haven’t seen her since, so,” He shrugged. “You know. Must’ve been pretty miserable to not even come back for me.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“All good. I know she loved me, but she probably hated living with my dad more. She didn’t deserve what he did.” 

“What about you, Mister Irwin?” 

Irwin gave him a disinterested look. “It just feels right.” 

It occurred to Calum that this was the furthest he’d walked in years. On the rare occasions that Brooke let him leave the house, he was never allowed to go further than the market. It was a weird feeling, breaking such a strict rule so uncaringly. 

Calum grinned at Michael, not needing to say a thing for Michael to understand and grin back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR IMPLIED RAPE IN THIS CHAPTER

“Another unsatisfied customer,” Grayson said sadly. 

Michael kept his eyes on his clasped hands in his lap as he spoke. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry doesn’t keep our patrons coming back.”

“I know.” 

Hitting the floor, Michael’s brain took a moment to realise that Grayson had kicked him in the jaw. 

“Get up,” Grayson snapped, “You know what happens now.”

Scrambling to his knees, Michael made for the bed and yanked his tattered pelt from the sheets and laid it out on the floor. Grayson already had the brand ready and pressed it down onto the pelt, an ornate RG that matched the one burned into the back of Michael’s shoulder joining the dozens that littered it already. 

Even after all the times he’d done this, tears still spilled from Michael’s eyes as he swallowed back the blood in his mouth. 

“Pathetic whore,” Grayson hissed, “Guess if I wanted something that could take its punishments like a man I shouldn’t have picked up a bitch.” 

“I’m sorry,” Michael sniffled. 

“Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey can we take a break soon?” Calum asked, “My legs are about to fall off.”

“I _told_ you!” Michael crowed, “I tell you all the fuckin’ time that selkies can’t walk as far as humans but you never believe me!”

“To be fair, I’m not used to walking outside of the house I’ve lived in for god knows how long,” Calum reminded him. 

“Shut up, you’re supposed to be on my side!” Michael protested. 

Calum grinned. 

“There’s a town coming up,” Irwin told them, “We should get there in an hour.”

Nodding, Calum pulled an apple from the cart and munched on it and half listened to Michael’s complaints. He couldn’t fathom why he was so keen to slow their journey since he probably hadn’t seen the ocean in weeks. Even a few days was unbearably long for a selkie. 

He watched as Hemmings wandered closer to Irwin, leaning in to whisper something and touch his lower back, hand wandering downwards before he drew away again. Calum didn’t know a lot about human mannerisms, but there was something different about the way Hemmings and Irwin acted with each other. Maybe he could ask Michael about it when they found an inn. 

Despite living as a human for so long, their world was still utterly alien to Calum. Over the past few days he’d repeatedly found himself fucking up small things with his lack of knowledge, Hemmings and Michael trying not to laugh as Irwin corrected him. Who knew that humans had so many intricate, unspoken rules and cues? 

“You wanna hit the pub when we get there, Cal?” 

Calum looked up at Michael, feeling a small thrill at the use of the nickname. “Alright.”

“Bet I can drink you under the table,” he said with a devilish grin. 

“I bet you can too,” Calum replied with an eyeroll and a smiling playing at his lips.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR IMPLIED RAPE AND GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER

Michael stared at the knife, certain that it had been left as a trap. Grayson must have asked a patron to drop it on purpose, to hide it so that Michael wouldn’t find it until he was trying to sleep. Michael lifted his head slightly, looking back at the man sleeping behind him, an arm draped over Michael's body. 

Ewan been with Grayson a few years. Michael guessed he’d disappointed him somehow. Grayson’s plan was for Michael to kill Ewan, then leave the tent and try to escape. Grayson’s men would catch him, maybe after they’d had their fun watching him try to run, and then…

Michael frowned. Mutilating his pelt probably wouldn’t be enough to pay for killing this disposable grunt. Maybe Grayson was finally bored enough to kill Michael. 

Taking the knife, Michael examined it in the low light the moon offered. He opened it and weighed it, considering how well it fit in his hand. Even if he didn’t die tonight, he wasn’t going to live tomorrow. He hadn’t lived in years. 

Carefully, Michael turned over to face Ewan. He brought the knife up, nearly laughing at how strange it felt to hold someone else’s life in his hands. To be so in control of Ewan’s life. Smiling, he plunged the knife deep into Ewan’s neck and couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his lips. 

Ewan’s eyes blinked open and he gaped in surprise as Michael yanked the knife out and sunk it deep again and again and again until blood gurgled out of Ewan’s mouth and his eyes were glassy. Michael sat up and pressed a palm to his mouth, stifling his laughter at the sheer ridiculousness. After everything Ewan had done to him, all it had taken to end it all was a few inches of steel. It was _absurd._

Michael peaked out of his tent, seeing no one waiting in ambush. They probably wanted him to run. He ducked back inside to don Ewan’s coat and pull his boats on. The cold probably wouldn’t bother him for long, but he knew how much they liked watching him suffer naked. He didn’t think he’d ever understand humans’ obsession with clothing, but whatever. 

Stepping out of the tent, Michael wondered who’d been put on watch. As he approached the road leading to their campsite, he recognised Louie’s snoring and shook his head. Sleeping on duty. No wonder Grayson had left him slumped against a tree for Michael to deal with. 

Again, Michael pondered the insane enormity of being able to choose whether someone lives or dies before pressing a hand to Louie’s mouth and slashing his neck open, blood spurting into the underbrush. 

Standing, Michael gazed around at the trees. Nobody had jumped out, said “Gotcha!” and called for Grayson to see what his bitch had done. Curious, Michael went back to the campsite and poked his head into the first tent he reached. 

Conor clearly wasn’t in on the scheme. Michael crept in and sat on his hips, holding a hand to his mouth like he had with Louie. He grinned as Conor came to and struggled at the sight of Michael’s knife. Opening his throat, Michael watched the blood pour out, giddy with the thrill of being the reason this shit stain would never breathe again. 

Moving from tent to tent, Michael counted his captors off on his fingers, a little surprised at the length of Grayson’s shitlist. Casey, Hugo, Toby, Hamish, Elliot, Francis. Maybe Grayson wanted to go solo now. 

Although he’d skipped Grayson’s tent at first, Michael came back to it. Grayson was probably watching him from the trees but…maybe he’d left Michael’s pelt there. Michael wouldn’t say no to touching it one last time before he died. 

He gasped when he opened the tent and saw Grayson sleeping there, his expression more peaceful than Michael had ever seen it. This couldn’t be real. It made no sense, why would Grayson be sleeping there while Michael stands over him, knife in hand? 

As the shock wore off, the realisation that the world was just suddenly batshit settled. 

Michael went in, careful not to disturb Grayson as he fished shackles from the chest he kept his tools in. Given how many times Michael had worn these, it would be pretty hilarious for Grayson to try them on. Good thing he was a deep sleeper. 

“Ree-eece!” Michael sang when he was secured to a tent post, “Someone left a knife in my tent! A fucking _knife!_ How crazy is that?”

Grayson stirred, pulling at the shackles. “What the fuck,” he slurred, “What the fuck?” 

“Hey Reece, guess what? I killed everyone else!” Michael told him, “All of them! They’re dead and I did it!” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Grayson growled, “Unlock me, you whore. Hamish! Conor!” 

Cutting his clothes open, Michael giggled. “They’re not coming, Reece!” 

Grayson’s struggling died. “Unlock me.” 

Michael twirled the tip of the knife on his chest. “Nah.” 

“Please.” 

Michael barked a laugh. “ _Please?_ I didn’t even know you knew that word!” 

“I’ll give you anything.”

“Anything? Fuck, can I have some crab legs? I miss those.”

“Your pelt. You can take it, I don’t want it anymore.”

“Hm. I’m pretty sure you’re not in a position to stop me from taking it,” Michael observed, running the blade down his cheek and watching the blood dribble out, “But now that I think about it, there are some things you can do for me.”

“Whatever you want,” Grayson blurted.

“Can you scream for me, Reece?” Michael asked before pressing the knife into his eye and twisting to pull it out. 

To his delight, Grayson did scream. 

“Okay, okay!” Michael giggled, “Um, how about crying? Can you cry, Reece?” 

Seeing Grayson cry was hysterical. Michael had never known that he was capable of it and it was just _weird_ seeing his face do that. He took his time with Grayson, endlessly curious about all the funny faces he could make now. By the time he stopped making new ones, a tint of pre-dawn light was seeping in. 

Michael rolled his limp body over, nearly breaking down at how easy it was to manhandle him. He grinned when he saw his pelt, lifting it with red, shaky hands. Grayson had gotten some blood on it, inconsiderate asshole that he was, but Michael was still in awe to be holding it like this, with no expectation of seeing it defiled. 

Despite the years, the motion of swinging it around his shoulders and being enveloped was burned into his muscle memory. Michael clutched it close, rocking himself for a moment before realising something was wrong. 

Frowning, he pulled it off and tried again. Putting on your skin wasn’t the kind of thing you forgot, but he had to be doing something wrong. Michael tried again and again, a sob ripping out of his throat as he took it off and stared at it, at the burns and stains and tears and gouges. 

Clutching it tight, Michael curled over and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was so cathartic to write up until I remembered that it has a sad ending. Maybe we should pretend that that last thing didn't happen and relish in Michael's happiness.


	9. Chapter 9

A pounding headache woke Calum in the middle of the night. As Michael had predicted, he was a total lightweight and could barely stand after just a few drinks. 

Groaning, he sat up and turned to his bedside table, grabbing the pitcher there and chugging the water straight from it. A lot spilled out onto his face and chest, but it only served to soothe his burning skin. 

As he put the pitcher back, he heard a soft sob and looked back, surprised to see Michael sitting up in his bed, crying into the sheets. Calum pushed his own covers back and stood, intending to ask him what was wrong, but feeling his stomach turn horribly when Michael looked up at him and he saw what he was holding. 

Unmistakably, it was a sealskin, but it was tattered and stained. 

“Is that—” Calum couldn’t bring himself to say it, but Michael nodded, lifting the pelt for Calum to see in the moonlight. 

“My pelt.” 

Calum wanted to throw up. The longer he looked, the more damage he saw. Michael’s pelt wasn’t just stained, it was covered in small burns and scrapes and holes. Though his skin crawled, Calum couldn’t tear his gaze away from the grotesque sight. Michael’s pelt hadn’t just been tossed into a fire in a fit of rage. Each mark was separate, varying in appearance and severity as if they’d been sadistically added one by one, possibly over many years. 

“I got a chance early on,” Michael croaked, snapping Calum out of his stupor, “To kill him and get out. But I couldn’t do it. The thought of killing someone made me sick and I couldn’t do it and he caught me and he made me watch him carve his name into it and then he—”

Hugging his pelt close as a broken sob choked him off, Michael didn’t need to continue. Growing up, people had always acted like once a human took your pelt, they’d taken everything, but by now Calum knew that there was always more. He considered himself lucky that his wife had never _wanted_ more from him, never more than her father made her take. 

Lightheaded, Calum lowered himself to Michael’s bed and decided his best course of action was to put an arm around him. “I’m sorry.”

Sobbing, Michael curled into Calum’s touch. “I wanna go home.” 

“I know.” 

Calum felt tears prick at his eyes as he realised that for all his yearning for the sea, he’d always had the hope of returning to it one day. Now that he had his pelt, thanks to Michael, he could actually do it. Michael felt the same desperate, agonising pull, but even with his pelt in his hands he would never go back. 

Openly crying now, Calum clutched at Michael out of some need for something stable to hold onto as his heart shattered into a thousand knives in his chest.


	10. Chapter 10

Michael shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He needed to find some new clothes. Clothes that didn’t smell like _them._ They’d been good trophies at first, but now they just felt heavy. Not to mention, they reeked of rotten blood and memories. 

That would have to wait, though. For now, Michael just wanted to eat. 

As he dug into the plate of disgustingly cooked fish in front of him, Michael idly listened in on the quiet conversation of the two curly haired men sitting in the booth next to his, vaguely wondering what humans talked about aside from kidnap and rape. 

“It’s Fraser,” one said, “There’s talk about his wife.” 

“How much talk?”

“They reckon she came out of nowhere. Beautiful woman with no family anyone aside from Fraser knew. Incredible singing voice, too. Gotta be a selkie.”

The other man scoffed. “I bet he loves making her sing for him.” 

“Focus, Luke.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We’ll bring him here for drinks tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah. Send him home early, though. I wanna have you to myself for a while tonight. Who knows when we'll have a decent bed again.” 

Michael swallowed. There was a selkie trapped here? 

When the woman serving him came back, Michael paid her and left, gears turning as he wondered how hard it would be to track Fraser down.


	11. Chapter 11

“I thought you said you weren’t actually a magician,” Calum recalled, idly stabbing at his egg. 

“I’m not training under anyone,” Hemmings clarified, expanding the crackling ball of fire in his hands, “But we’re trying to learn.”

Calum looked at Irwin. “You too?”

Irwin nodded, still chewing his toast.

“He’s way better than me,” Hemmings said with a proud smile, letting his fire ball die, “You should see him, it’s fucking incredible.”

Irwin swallowed. “You’d be better if you meditated more,” he told Hemmings reproachfully. 

Hemmings leaned over to Irwin to nuzzle their noses together. “But I like being impressed by you,” he said with a grin, “And it’s really hard to focus on meditating when you’re there.”

Irwin’s expression didn’t change aside from a cocked eyebrow. 

“What kind of magic do you do?” Calum asked him. 

Irwin pulled his stony eyes from Hemmings to look at Calum. “Mainly psychic stuff, like creating illusions and putting people to sleep, but a bit of elemental work too.” 

The conversation was cut short by Michael coming in, bed headed and bleary eyed. 

“Morning, Michael!” Calum greeted. 

Michael gave him a tired smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he slid next to him in the booth, curling in on himself a little. 

Calum had woken up to find Michael’s arms wrapped tightly around him, holding on as if he were afraid that if he let go he’d fall. Putting an arm around him, Calum offered Michael a leftover sausage from his plate, which he nibbled at anxiously, eyes darting around at other patrons. He and Calum got a lot of stares from humans drawn in by their selkie beauty and, as used to it as he was, Calum hated them for it now, wanting to shield Michael from their invasive gazes. 

“I’ve been hearing rumours,” Hemmings said. 

Michael looked up, eyes shining with something Calum couldn’t quite place. “Where?”

“Small town not far from here. It’ll be a bit of a detour, but..” Hemmings shrugged. “I think we could all go for another job, ay?” 

“Definitely,” Irwin agreed, stretching his arms up and groaning.


	12. Chapter 12

Michael stood, wiping a bloody hand off on his trousers and contemplating the remains in front of him. Killing Fraser had certainly felt good, but he’d died far too quickly. He deserved worse. 

“You know, at first I was pretty upset that you beat me to him,” a familiar voice said. 

Michael spun around, recognising one of the men from the pub, a foot up on the lounge he was lying on. When had he come in?

“I gotta say, though…” The man’s eyes wandered from Michael to the mess on the floor. “That was fucking hot.” 

“Who are you?” Michael demanded, “What do you want?” 

“I wanted to kill him.” The man gave Michael a pouty look, though it didn’t reach his cold, hawk-like eyes. “Obviously that’s not much of a possibility now.” 

“If you lay a hand on his wife,” Michael began.

“Mrs Fraser is gone.”

“What?”

“She took her pelt and just ran. I was going to ask her if she wanted to kill him, but she didn’t let me get a word in. Lucky for you.” The man gave Michael a pointed look. “It would’ve been ungentlemanly to steal her kill like that.” 

Michael frowned. “Her pelt?”

“Mm. Fraser gave it up easily enough. Actually…” The man stood and approached, halting when Michael flinched. “In his pocket, he should have some money. That’s ours.”

Michael stepped out of the way, not taking his eyes off the stranger. “I’m not stopping you from getting it.” 

The man shrugged and crouched next to the body, searching the pockets until he found what he was looking for. 

“Who are you?” Michael repeated. 

“Irwin.” 

“Why did you give…Mrs Fraser…her pelt back.” 

“She can’t return to the sea without it,” Irwin said as if it was obvious, standing. 

“I know, but…why not keep it?” 

Irwin frowned at him before going back to the lounge and wiping his hands on a cushion. “What would I do with a selkie’s pelt?” 

“Use it as leverage so that you can rape her whenever you want,” Michael bit. 

“Mm…no thank you.” Irwin headed out of the room. “I think she’d rather just take it and go to the sea.” 

“But you’re a _human,_ ” Michael protested, following him. 

“And you’re a selkie.”

Michael froze. “How do you know that?”

“Humans don’t tell each other that they’re humans.”

Shaking himself, Michael hurried after Irwin and grabbed his arm to stop him. “Wait.”

Irwin looked down at Michael’s hand, a flash of anger crossing his features before Michael let go. “What,” he said, the barest hint of emotion seeping into his tone. 

“Why did you really help her? What’s in it for you?” 

Irwin eyed him. “I get to kill rapists.” He tilted his head. “What’s your name?”

“My…” Michael stared for a moment before a surprised laugh escaped his lips. “My _name?_ ” 

Irwin looked unamused. “Yeah. Your name. What is it?”

“God, I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that,” Michael laughed, “It’s Michael. _Fuck!_ ”

“Where are you staying tonight, Michael?” 

“I dunno, somewhere.” 

“If you’re still in town tomorrow, you might wanna talk to my partner. You seemed to enjoy disemboweling Fraser. Maybe you’ll be interested in more.” 

Michael had to admit that it sounded appealing. “Why not now? I’m not doing anything else tonight.” 

“Me and him are both about to be very busy.”


	13. Chapter 13

Calum fell to his bed with a huff, watching Michael get ready for tonight. 

“Sure you don’t wanna come?” Michael asked as he neatened his shirt. 

“I think Irwin hates me,” Calum confessed, “He’s been getting…colder towards me. I wouldn’t wanna ruin his night.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Michael assured him, shrugging his coat on, “He just gets tense when he hasn’t killed anyone in a while. Trust me, after tonight he’s gonna be the cuddliest fuck you’ll ever meet.” 

Calum frowned. “I can’t picture him cuddling.” He rolled onto his back and gazed at the stained ceiling. “I don’t think it’s for me anyway. What you guys do…I couldn’t do that.”

“Fair enough. Hurting people is harder for us, ay?”

Calum looked over at Michael as he adjusted his glasses in the vanity and played with his hair. By nature, selkies were empathetic, sensitive to the emotional climates of others. He couldn’t imagine suffering so much that it made him capable of what Michael and Ashton did and surviving. 

A knock came at their door and Michael went to answer it. 

“We got it,” Irwin told him, holding up the bundle in his arms. A pelt, safely wrapped in canvas. 

“Sick.” Michael grinned at Calum. “See ya!”

“Have fun,” Calum replied.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER

Michael curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he was starting to cry. “That was a fucking disaster!” he howled. 

Ashton sat on the floor next to him, a smile playing at his lips. “Definitely a lot messier than usual,” he agreed, wiping his bloody hands off on his dark trousers. 

“I thought skinning things was supposed to be easy!”

“Skinning _rabbits_ is easy. Humans are a lot bigger.” 

Michael rolled onto his back and grinned up at Ashton. “You know, I bet we can do it without them dying before we finish. We just need practise.”

Ashton hummed. “Can’t say I’ve ever tried _that_ with rabbits.” 

A shiver ran through Michael’s body and his eyes slipped shut. “God, I needed that.” He idly picked up a larger section of skin and held it up, gears turning in his head. “I just had an idea.”

“Yeah?”

Michael rolled onto his stomach, smoothing the piece flat on the floor. With his knife, he carved letters into it, shielding his work from Ashton’s view until he was done. “Tada!”

“Rapist,” Ashton read. 

“I was thinking we could nail it to the door. So that everyone would know.” 

Ashton tilted his head. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Except your handwriting’s still shit and you spelt it wrong.”

“Fuck off!” Michael protested, throwing the skin at Ashton and cackling at the gross, wet sound it made when the bloody side hit his face.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR EXPLICIT SEX IN THIS CHAPTER

Calum sat up when he heard a key rattle in the lock on the door, relaxing as Michael came in. 

“How was it?” he asked, smelling the blood immediately. 

Michael grinned. “Great! Everything went perfectly.” 

“Cool. Bath’s run, by the way.”

“Thanks, man.”

Calum watched him head to the bathroom, shedding his coat as he went. Although Michael had assured him that he’d be fine and Irwin had his back and they never slipped up, part of Calum had feared that he wouldn’t make it back in one piece. 

A thud from Irwin and Hemmings’ room had Calum sitting up, heart racing. He listened closely, hearing wood creak as someone groaned. Eventually, Hemmings moaned a “ _Fuck me, Ash,_ ” and Calum relaxed for a moment, glad that his friends weren’t in trouble, before tensing up again as Hemmings moaned louder. Part of him was disgusted by the thought of humans fucking just beyond his bedroom wall, but another part of him was getting a bit too interested. 

Lying down, Calum tried to ignore the noises, some of them sounding a lot more pained than he thought was normal, though maybe that’s just how human sex was. Despite his repulsion, blood continued to flow downward, prompting thoughts that Calum didn’t need to be thinking right now. 

He turned over to his other side, deciding that it wasn’t _that_ weird to react like this. It _had_ been a while, after all, and if he was being honest he’d rarely felt comfortable enough to even jerk off since Brooke stole his pelt all those years ago. Calum frowned. His train of thought wasn’t helping his situation. 

Planning to go outside and get some air, Calum threw off his sheets and made it about halfway to the door before Michael emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a fresh set of blood-free clothes. 

“Oh, are you going out?” Michael asked before frowning, clearly smelling that something was up. 

“Yeah, I was just gonna—”

Hemmings yelped, the sound startling Calum and sending blood directly to his dick. 

Aside from Hemmings’ groans, the room was silent, Calum and Michael staring at each other. Despite washing off the blood and sweat from earlier, Michael still smelled of something frenzied and intense, an energy that Calum couldn’t help but feel drawn to. He licked his lips in deliberation and before he could blink Michael was on him, pushing him against the door with a piercing glint in his eyes. 

Calum melted in his grip, leaning forward to press their lips together, spurred on by how soft and warm Michael felt. They didn’t get far before Michael was turning them around, pushing Calum back until his legs hit the bed and he fell backwards. He scrambled back to make room, Michael following and working his knees in between Calum’s to push his legs open as he caged him in with his arms, hungry eyes locking on his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Calum breathed.

Michael went for his neck, kissing at the artery and lightly nipping at his ear as he reached down to grip his thigh and grind against his dick. 

“ _Michael,_ ” Calum moaned, pleading for more. 

In answer, Michael moved his hand to Calum’s bulge and palmed at it, pulling his lower lip between his. Grinding up against his hand, Calum wrapped his arms around Michael’s neck and moaned. How did he forget how good this was?

“Take your shirt off,” Michael murmured, sitting up to give him room. 

Calum barely had time to toss it away before Michael was kissing at his chest, lips soft and wet against his skin. Eyes slipping shut, Calum ran his fingers through Michael’s hair and felt him suck hard on his collarbone. He felt a twinge of shame at how close he was already, remembering when he used to last much longer than a couple of minutes, but he stopped caring the moment Michael reached down his pants and wrapped a hand around his dick, jerking it slowly and kissing at the spot he’d been sucking. 

“Is this okay?” Michael asked lowly. 

“Yeah. God, Michael, don’t stop.”

Calum’s body was on fire, fucking Michael’s fist almost of its own accord. Michael matched his tempo, twisting his wrist a little with each stroke. 

“’M not gonna last,” Calum groaned, a little upset that this was going to be over so soon but too caught up in the pleasure to really care, “I’m close.”

“Cum for me,” Michael whispered, his hand getting faster.

“ _Fuck._ ” Calum pulled him close, gasping into his neck as he dragged him to the edge and pulled him over in a shower of sparks and fire.

He stilled as he came, moaning and leaving Michael to stroke him through his orgasm, whispering gentle words that Calum barely registered but loved all the same. As he came down, his lips returning to Michael’s jaw, he became aware of the mess on his stomach and the fact that none of it was Michael’s. 

Groaning a little at how drained he suddenly felt, Calum pushed at Michael until he was on his back, kissing deeply and languidly as his hands pulled his shirt up to expose his body. They broke apart just long enough for Michael to take his shirt off, then Calum’s lips were on him again, slowly moving downwards to kiss at Michael’s chest and stomach and hips.

“Can I?” he asked when he reached the hem of his pants.

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, lifting his hips to allow Calum to slip them down. 

Taking Michael’s enticingly hard dick in hand, Calum gave it a few strokes before kissing up the underside. He let his tongue slip out when he reached the tip, half-remembered techniques slowly coming back to him as he worked. 

“Fuck, Cal,” Michael murmured, fingers threading through his hair, “Tighter.”

Calum stroked him harder, slipping his wet lips over the head. As he licked and sucked he felt Michael slowly falling apart, heard it in his ragged moans and tasted it in his leaking precum. Michael didn’t seem to mind that he couldn’t get all of him in his mouth, moaning encouragements and thrusting lightly, his tightening grip in Calum’s hair a silent plea to keep going. 

Looking up at him, Calum was struck by how beautiful Michael was in the moonlight streaming in through their window, pale skin silvery and glistening with sweat. The sight was almost enough to distract him from Michael’s oncoming orgasm, but Calum caught himself in time to really give it his all, taking Michael as deep as he could before he felt his hips stutter, cum spurting into his mouth. He swallowed it down, slowing his hand to save Michael from too much overstimulation. 

Michael’s panting slowed, his hand moving to cup Calum’s jaw as he looked down at him. “C’mere,” he breathed. 

Calum climbed back up to meet Michael’s lips, kissing him slowly, letting him taste himself on Calum’s tongue. Michael maneuvered them so that they were both on their sides, wrapped in each other’s arms as Calum let his eyes slip shut and ran his hand over Michael’s perfect, scarred back. 

He frowned as his fingers grazed a particularly large scar on the back of his shoulder. He wasn’t going to ask, but Michael noticed his lingering touch and sat up to show it to Calum. The scar was at least four inches long and jagged, warped and pale enough that it had to be at least a few years old. 

“I was…branded there. Ashton cut it out for me.”

Calum frowned. “That must’ve hurt.”

“Yeah, but…not as much as knowing the brand was there, you know? It was like I was still his property, even though he was dead.” Michael touched the scar. “This feels more like…proof that it’s over. That I made it out and no one’s ever gonna make me feel like that again.”

Calum reached up to touch the scar again, tracing its shape before sitting up to kiss it and wrap his arms around Michael’s waist. “I love you,” he murmured, “Wish I could be that strong.” 

“Love you too,” Michael told him, “I hope you never have to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, my first smut. Writing it was actually way harder than I expected and I have no idea how Alex does this for literally everything he writes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE IN THIS CHAPTER

“You mind if I sit out this time?” Ashton asked as he helped Michael tie their newest plaything to the ceiling by his neck, forcing him to stand on the tips of his toes. 

Michael frowned, starting to cut away the man’s clothes. “Why, are you tired?” 

“No, no. I just like watching you.” 

Michael shrugged. “Okay.” 

“Just let me pull a nail,” he said, taking out his pliers and kneeling to inspect the man’s thumbs. 

The man screamed through his gag as Ashton pulled out one of his nails, struggling against the ropes that tied his wrists to his ankles so that if he wanted to pull his hands away from Ashton’s pliers he’d have to lift his feet from the ground and hang by his neck. He tried that a few times, his screams choking off as he squirmed, but Ashton successfully yanked the nail out, wrapping it in a clean handkerchief and nodding for Michael to continue. 

As Ashton took a seat in the corner of the kitchen, Michael set about carving the letters into the man’s chest, sighing at the sound of his muffled cries. He kept his touch light, pressing the knife deep enough to make him bleed, but not enough to cut right through the skin as that always made the letters hard to make out. 

Ashton watched from his chair as he moved on to drawing a deeper line around the base of his neck and another down his back, eyes dark and hungry. Michael had seen looks like that before, but now, with him in control, it didn’t make him feel like prey. It goaded him on, Ashton silently willing him to keep going, to dig his fingers between the skin and the muscles of the man’s back and pull, exposing quivering red meat. 

Intoxicated by Ashton’s desire, Michael worked the man over, pulling the skin from his shoulders and chest down his arms to let it all hang from his wrists, wishing they didn’t have to gag him. He loved hearing them beg. Since they were in a kitchen this time, Michael searched the drawers and made a show of sprinkling salt on the raw flesh, drawing a fond smile from Ashton. 

There was always a sense of intimacy during these nights now, like they were sharing something more personal than anyone else could know. Michael had been resistant to it at first, but now it felt as natural as breathing.

As he finally slashed the man’s inner thigh, Michael watched Ashton’s face, watched his lips part in a shaky exhale as the man took his last breath. He’d never realised a human could be so beautiful.


	17. Chapter 17

Staring out at the glittering waves, Calum had almost been afraid that if he blinked he’d wake up in Faye’s bed and realise that it had all been a long, beautiful dream. The selkie they’d freed a few days ago, Lyra, had no such hesitations, ripping off the clothes the human world had forced upon her and slinging her pelt over her shoulders, transforming as the ocean swallowed her. 

Calum hoped that she found her family soon. Although he was glad to finally be in the sea, to be soaked with salty water and sunlight, he knew that this beach was nowhere near the one he’d been taken from and he’d have to travel far to find his again. 

In a fluid motion he’d forgotten he knew, Calum torpedoed himself at Michael and pulled his pelt off in time to wrap his arms around him and pull him underwater, laughing with him as they wrestled. Although Michael’s pelt was gone, too damaged to shift him into his seal form, Calum was thrilled to find that he still loved swimming, even if he had to do it with awkward human legs. 

To his surprise, Luke and Ashton liked swimming too. They were much slower and clumsier than any selkie, but they joined Calum and Michael’s game until they were so worn out they had to swim back to shore. 

“So you’re gonna stay with us?” Michael asked as they found a spot on the beach to stretch out and soak up some sun. 

“Yeah. Might as well, you know? I don’t wanna travel alone when I’m so close to getting home.”

“Fair enough.” Michael paused for a moment. “I’m glad you’re not saying bye yet.” 

Calum looked at him. 

“Sorry, that was kinda shitty to say,” Michael apologised quickly. 

“No, I’m glad too,” Calum told him, “Actually, I was kinda thinking about it and I don’t know if I’ll stay with my family long,” he confessed, “I love them, but…”

Michael’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Not everyone gets to see their family again and I like travelling with you guys and…I wanna be part of what you do. I wanna help people.”

Michael looked surprised. “But we spend so much time inland,” he argued. 

“I know, but…” Calum shrugged a little, “The fact that I can come back to the ocean at all is so much more than other people have.” 

Michael took Calum’s hand. “We’d be glad to have you,” he said with a grin.


	18. Chapter 18

“Faye Brooke’s looking really good for us,” Luke told Michael and Ashton lowly, eyeing the people scattered about the pub, “A few years ago she married some guy nobody had ever heard of. They barely leave her father’s house, but I keep hearing people talk about how beautiful he is.” 

“Her father?” Michael questioned. 

“Charles Brooke. He owns a winery. Travels a lot for business, so he could be the one that kidnapped his daughter’s mysterious husband.” 

“I reckon we aim for him, then,” Ashton suggested, “He probably makes all the financial decisions for the family.”

“Looks that way,” Luke agreed. 

“You wanna charm the pelt off of him, or should I do it?” Michael asked. 

“I’ll do it,” Luke said, “You should get some rest before tonight. You might be doing two this time.”

Michael nodded. “Fair enough.” He grinned at Ashton. “Should be fun, ay? One for each of us. We could see who can skin theirs the fastest.”

Luke grimaced. “No offence Michael, but can we not talk about that right now?”

Ashton leaned in close to murmur in Luke’s ear. “What’s wrong? Does the thought of me slicing someone to pieces get you all hot and bothered?”

Michael cackled at Luke’s pout. “Aw, poor Lukey! How are you supposed to focus on sweet-talking a pelt out of Brooke now?” 

“You guys are dickheads.”

**Author's Note:**

> I run tran5rightsos on Tumblr! Feel free to send asks about this or any of my other 5sos fics!
> 
> Comments are always welcome.


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